


Dirty Money

by PAPERSK1N



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: AU, Drug Distribution, Drug lord au, Drugs, Geoff and Michael are only mentioned, Lot's of money, M/M, Money, New York City, Nicknames, Possessive Behavior, Possessive Ryan, R & R Connection - Freeform, R&R Connection - Freeform, Ryan and Ray-centric, Sex whilst high, Vague Sex, mature - Freeform, remedying the lack of this fucking ship, unhealthy relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-11
Updated: 2014-09-11
Packaged: 2018-02-17 00:39:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,061
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2290610
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PAPERSK1N/pseuds/PAPERSK1N
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ryan is the most feared Drug Lord in New York City. Ray is his challenge.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dirty Money

**Author's Note:**

> Just a lil R&R Connection drabble because there isn't enough of this ship.

“Money doesn’t make the world go round.” Ryan says. He flicks the ash off the end of his cigarette, and watches as it falls over the balcony, disintegrating in the wind. “People think it does- that or _love_ , anyway. But it doesn’t.” he sighs. “Do you know what it is, Ray? Do you know what makes the world go round?"

Ray shakes his head, pulling his hoodie a little tighter around himself, protecting his bare arms from the night’s chill. He follows Ryan’s gaze out onto the city, the lights reflecting off of his glasses and straight into his heart. Ryan’s face grows into a small smile, as he takes another drag of his cigarette.

“Not money. Not love. It’s _drugs_.”

Ray raises an eyebrow questioningly as he steps out further onto the balcony, next to Ryan. He rests his head against Ryan’s firm bicep, and tries his hardest not to purr when Ryan’s hand snakes through his dark hair.

“Drugs make the world go round, Ray. Because it’s the perfect combination of both love and money. People love drugs because they love the _rush_. The _addiction._ And then the money… the money is their secondary goal. Hey don’t necessarily _want_ it, but they know they need it." he explains.

"That's what keeps you in business then?" Ray asks. Ryan smirks.

"That’s what makes my world _spin,_ Ray. Feeding off people’s _addictions._ ”

Ryan tosses his cigarette over the edge of the rail, and follows it with his eyes as it falls down hundreds of stories, before disappearing into the busy street below.

“I’m sorry.” He corrects himself, running his fingers through Ray’s hair again. “ _Our_ world.”

* * *

 

Ryan was the most feared drug dealer in New York City. He wasn’t as much of a dealer as he was a supplier, running everything from the comfort of his own penthouse suite. He acquired the goods, and passed them onto his runners. His runners would spread throughout the city and beyond, and bring him back any profit they made. Ryan didn't need to get his hands dirty.

That didn't stop him though.

Sometimes, he would be kind. He’d offer help to those who requested it. He’d loan them the goods, in exchange for a later payment. But sometimes, the debt would build. And the repercussions would be oh so _satisfying_.

Ryan didn't need to get his hands dirty. He had plenty of contacts who would go wherever, do _whatever_ , just to stay on his good side. Ryan didn't _need_ to get his hands dirty, but he did so anyway. Because he _liked_ it.

And then Ray came along.

Ryan was the kind of man who you didn't want to cross. When he gave you an instruction, you followed it. He asked you a question, you answered.

He gave you what you needed, and you _repayed_ him.

But Ray was different.

Ryan had seen him before, watched him from a distance. Ray was a thief. He was a pick-pocket, Ryan could see that. The way he blended so effortlessly into a crowd, but walked a little too close to people than necessary. It would just be a flash of tanned skin skimming across an unsuspecting pedestrian’s pocket, and then he would be gone.

Ryan could handle pickpockets. Everyone needed to earn a living some way. He of all people could understand that.

But then Ray started targeting his runners. He was a smart kid, Ryan could see that. He knew who was working for Ryan and who was just trying to get by, and he targeted accordingly. This riled Ryan up. If the kid wanted to smoke, why couldn’t he just buy his own shit? Why did he feel like he had the right to steal from _his_ men?

But still, Ryan let it slide.

Until he walked past Ray, who stood on a street corner. And he saw him dealing. He had stolen drugs practically out of Ryan’s hands, and now he was using it to take the customers and the profits directly from Ryan’s pockets.

And this made Ryan _angry._ His heart ached for the bloodlust he so often _craved_. It had been long, _too long_ since he had secured somebody else’s life. There was something that just _satisfied_ him about murder, that he couldn’t quite explain. And as he kept his eye on the skinny Hispanic kid across the street, he knew that he had found his next target.

This was Ryan’s own _addiction._

This was what led Ryan to Ray’s New York City apartment in the dead of the night. Ryan easily went unnoticed through the city, and through the levels of Ray’s building. He knew how to make himself disappear into a setting, something he and Ray apparently had in common.

Ray’s apartment was empty. No furniture, no belongings. There were still dust marks on the floor, however, so he couldn’t have been gone long. Ryan had missed him by seconds.

It had taken him another month of searching and tracking and trailing to find Ray’s location. Every time he arrived, the kid would already be gone. Ryan’s friend, Geoff had told him that the lengths he was going to were borderline obsessive. Ryan told him to shut the fuck up; he was just taking back what belonged to him, and nothing else.

It had seemed for so long, that every single time, Ray was always three steps ahead of him. And then, just as Ryan had finally gained the upper-hand, Ray was right behind him, already cast into the wind.

Which is why he was so surprised as he walked into Ray’s apartment through the front door, one hand tucked into his trouser pocket. Ray was leant back on his sofa, fingers flying across his Xbox controller. He didn't turn to acknowledge Ryan’s arrival. He didn't even blink.

“You’re Ray, right?” Ryan asked, stepping further into the apartment and shutting the door behind him. Ray paused his game, but didn't take his eyes from the screen.

“Yep.”

“Right. I think you have something that belongs to me.” Ryan said, trying to sound as threatening as possible, stepping forwards and approaching Ray's couch. He reached into his pocket as he spoke, slipping a cigarette out of a packet. Ray was there in an instant, stood up with his arm outstretched with a lighter already flicked on.

“Thanks.” Ryan mumbled, leaning in to light his cigarette. His face was etched in confusion as he watched Ray’s movements. The kid glanced up to him once, briefly, before turning back to the screen, and unpausing his game and sitting back down comfortably.

Ryan inhaled once. “Kid, do you know who I am? I’m R-”

“Ryan Haywood, yes, I know who you are. I’m not that much of a fucking recluse.”

Ryan frowned. “So you know who I am?” he asked.

“Yes.” Ray sighed, before quitting his game. He turned to face Ryan, brown eyes dry and emotionless. “Yes I know who you are. Yes I know why you’re here. But no, I’m not scared of you. We’ve been playing cat and mouse for way too long-" he smirked at that, clearly pleased at his own joke, "-and I’m just getting kind of sick of winning.”

Ray was different.

Ryan was so used to a world dominated entirely by him, with everyone ready to drop everything, end their _lives_ at the drop of a hat just because he asked so. But Ray just… wasn’t. His eyes didn't water, and his lip didn't quiver. The first night they had officially met, Ryan going over there with the full intention of ripping the boy’s throat out with his bare hands, and Ray hadn’t even flinched.

To Ryan, this was _new_. His mother used to tell him that he was too curious for his own good. Maybe she was right.

Because maybe Ray should’ve been a threat. But he wasn’t, he was a _challenge._

* * *

Ray had never meant to fall in love with Ryan Haywood. He was the kind of guy you’d hear about at shady parties, somebody always knowing somebody whose brother’s friend’s cousin had been taken out by the man himself. He was like some sort of twisted urban legend, but his forest was the streets of New York City. His evil lair was a penthouse suite at the top of the skyline.

But Ray didn't believe in ghost stories. He did what he had to do to get by, whether it was working shitty jobs at shitty hours, pick-pocketing innocent pedestrians, or selling dope on the street corner that had never been his in the first-place. He wasn’t picking a fight with Haywood, but after the first round of profit he secured, he just couldn’t let it go.

His best friend Michael had warned him once he found out what he was doing.

“You’re fucking crazy, Ray. You’re just asking to be fucking murdered by that psycho.”

But that didn't make Ray want to stop. For some reason, he wanted to meet this Ryan Haywood. He wanted to know what made him smile and what made him tick, if he really did only wear suits and if his eyes were really as cold as everyone said.

The first time they meet, Ryan lets him off easy and Ray is surprised. He knows he hasn’t heard the last of James ‘Ryan’ Haywood.

The first time they fuck, however, is a different story.

Ray wakes up the next morning to an empty apartment, bruises covering most of his body and aches spreading through him, along with one thousand dollars rolled up and tied with an elastic band sitting on his kitchen counter.

The note Ryan leaves simply says ‘ _until next time, kid’_

In Ray’s head, there isn’t going to be a next time. He tells himself that his night with Ryan was just a one off. Just the result of his innocent curiosity being exploited. He throws the thousand dollars across the room, watching it bounce off the wall. The smell on his fingers makes him feel sick, and he cries in his shower because he feels used.

But of course, there was always going to be a next time.

They carry on like this for months. Ray continues stealing and selling Ryan’s dope, twice as much as he used to because this time he knows the man is watching him. He likes to shoot grins into the security camera’s he knows Ryan can hack into and he leaves his door unlocked every night before he goes to bed.

Michael tells him he's crazy, and he’s asking to get robbed.

But somehow everyone _knows_ that Ray belongs to Ryan now. And nobody’s going to dare fuck with him or his stuff.

Ryan’s visits become more and more frequent over the months, and Ray starts feeling less like a paid fuck-buddy and more like a _friend_ in an odd way. He learns things about Ryan that nobody would ever guess.

Ryan is a huge gaming fan. Ryan loves animals. Ryan grew up in Georgia. Ryan loves his mother, and they talk on the phone once a week. She doesn’t know what it is that he does, of course. She thinks he's a business executive, and that’s why he’s rich enough to keep sending money over to his family. Ryan always wanted to have a family of his own one day, but now he would never bring a child into his world. Ryan sometimes hates himself more than he hates his job.

Some nights, Ray will lay his head in Ryan’s lap, and heavy hands matched with long fingers will stroke through Ray’s inky hair. Ray will curl up on himself like a cat, and hum happily. Ryan will laugh and call him kitty.

Over the months, Kitty shortens to Kit, and that’s the only name Ryan refers to him as apart from Ray. Ray doesn’t mind, because it’s better than Kid, anyway and doesn’t make him feel quite as inferior.

One night, when Ryan comes to visit him in his apartment, he doesn’t stay. Instead, he takes Ray out of his building and into a black car with tinted windows. He kisses Ray softly and tenderly, before he grabs his hand tightly, and takes him into his own apartment.

Ryan’s apartment is so big, that Ray’s footsteps echo. Everything is clear and spacious with fancy looking light fixtures, and L-shaped sofas. Ray’s eyes widen as he sees the incredible view of the city he has through the glass walls.

Ryan strips him down, and fucks him _hard_ against the glass, so the whole city can _see_ who he belongs to.

Neither of them actually realise they’re in a relationship until it’s too late, and Ryan is sending men over to carefully collect up Ray’s belongings and move them to his penthouse apartment. Ray is already laid naked in his bed, tangled in the crisp white sheets calling for Ryan to _come back to bed_ because it’s too early to be awake and _not_ be fucking.

After, Ryan falls asleep, snoring gently. Ryan doesn’t ever sleep for very long, and Ray cherishes the moments each time. It gives him time to think. Ray remembers that he doesn’t even sell dope anymore. That he hasn’t been to work in a month. His only source of income is the money Ryan gives him, notes rolled into fat wads, tucked into Ray’s back pocket or left on his kitchen counter.

But now, they live together, and as lovely as Ryan’s apartment it, Ray can't see himself staying there all day every day.

He brings up the topic of getting a job a week later, and Ryan explodes.

“Ray, why do you even _need_ a job?! Do I not provide for you? Am I not generous enough?”

“You are, Ry! You really are, but I can't live like this! Trapped inside all day with nobody to talk to because you’re working!”

“Invite your friends over, I’ve said that you can!”

“They all think I’m crazy for even being with you, and if they come here they’re going to get their fucking throat cut or something! I’ve got no fucking friends; my family won't even speak to me! You’re all I have, you bastard!”

“ _Kit.”_ Ryan reaches forwards to hold Ray’s wrist gently, but Ray pulls away roughly.

“Don’t call me that.” He spits, before turning and walking away.

“Where are you going?” Ryan calls after him.

“Out!”

Ray returns hours later with a love bite on his neck that Ryan knows isn’t from him. Ray cries and shouts until his throat is raw that nothing happened, but no matter how many times he promises, Ryan can’t get the image of someone else marking up what’s his. So he drags Ray into the bedroom, throws him down on the bed and has his way with him, reminding Ray with every brutal thrust who he _truly_ belongs too.

He apologises afterwards for being too rough when he sees the giant purple bruise that flares up on Ray’s shoulder. Ray apologises for hooking up with someone else, and for starting the argument in the first place.

Ray suspiciously gets offered a job at a video game store the next day, and spends the next night showing Ryan how thankful he is for it.

All too soon, Ray realises that he doesn’t see Ryan as Ryan Haywood the Drug Lord. He just sees him as _Rye,_ the blonde with the deep voice and the wide smile and the obsession with classic literature. He forgets, for a while, all about Ryan’s job. He pretends to himself that it’s his tiny video-game pay check that pays for his designer clothing and thousand-dollar gaming collection. Ray forgets all about the drugs and the violence, and just focuses on the _man._

But then, one night, Ryan come’s home with a packet of cocaine, and lay’s it out on the table. He draws it into lines, and shows Ray what to do, and how hard to snort. Ray goes along with it, because Ryan tells him too. It’s that blind faith that surprises both he and Ryan every day.

When they’re both so high, the sex can’t be any less than great- and it doesn’t matter how unco-ordinated they are. Ray is so buzzed and hyper that he can't stop grinning, even if his face has gone numb. They must be high, because Ryan let’s him take control, flipping them over so Ray can sit on top, straddling Ryan’s hips.

Ryan lays back as Ray rides him excitedly, bouncing up and down at rapid pace. Ryan’s stamina is pretty good as it is, but when they’re both _this_ high, they feel like they can go forever. Ryan lights up a cigarette, and lets it hang between Ray’s pretty lips. He reaches into his drawer, and pulls out another roll of cash. He unfolds the notes and throws them high into the air, the pair of them laughing and moaning as the money rains down around them, fluttering through the air.

It’s the most surreal experience either of them has ever had.

Afterwards, when they slowly feel themselves beginning to sober, Ray curls his entire body into Ryan’s and gently suck’s a mark on the older’s neck. Because not only does _he_ belong to _Ryan_ , _Ryan_ belongs to _him too_.

Ryan’s bed sheets are one hundred percent silk, and feel as soft as clouds on Ray’s skin. When he lies in bed in the mornings, knowing Ryan has already left on a job, he realises how lucky he is.

Ryan will give him anything he wants, and all he has to do is ask. Ray wonders when it turned from an occasional angry fuck and a thousand dollars on the kitchen counter to waking up next to Ryan every morning, and going to movies. Walking through central park, and watching the sunset on their balcony.

* * *

 

He thinks about this again as he and Ryan stand on the balcony, his head a warm weight against Ryan’s bi-cep.

“You see?” Ryan says. Ray hasn’t been listening, but he nods anyway.

“I see." he says, shrugging lightly. The balcony falls silent.

Ray has always hated silence.

"I love you, Ryan.” He says.

“I love you too, Kit.” Ryan replies, turning to him with a wide smile. “You’re the greatest thing that’s ever happened to me.”


End file.
